


Determination

by busaikko



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode: s04e10 This Mortal Coil, M/M, Porn Battle, Replicator SGA-1 Team, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-25
Updated: 2008-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Rodney had thought that he would have had the hardest time adjusting to the horror of being a cheap knock-off, but he actually got over it pretty quickly.  He'd often been told his ego was big enough for two: turned out it was.</i>  John, on the other hand....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Determination

Rodney had thought that he would have had the hardest time adjusting to the horror of being a cheap knock-off, but he actually got over it pretty quickly. He'd often been told his ego was big enough for two: turned out it was. Elizabeth had spent a few hours agonizing, and then -- realizing that she was free of both the SGC and the military -- got a gleam in her eyes and began questioning Teyla and Ronon intensely. Rodney extrapolated her lines of questioning, Ronon's keen interest, and Teyla's elaborate sketches of political power struggles, and came up with the plot of about eight million bad science fiction films.

"Elizabeth's planning space piracy," he told Sheppard, who sat in their jumper -- pseudo-jumper -- and played with his repli-weapons whenever he wasn't off patrolling or doing some other quasi-military busywork. They had another four days and two more gate-jumps planned before Elizabeth thought it would be safe to contact Atlantis and negotiate. Sheppard had agreed listlessly.

Rodney would not have thought that, of all of them, Sheppard would be the one to crack.

"I'll get her a parrot for her," Sheppard said, ending his sentence brutally before the word _birthday_. He continued, sullenly: "For Hanukkah."

"If we had some parrot DNA we probably could make our own," Rodney said, frowning to think. "Hey! We could make dinosaurs!"

"Yeah, that worked so well in Jurassic Park," Sheppard said, all smooth bitter anger, and Rodney saw something dark clenched in his hand.

"Hey," he said, reaching out and catching Sheppard's wrist. Sheppard sneered at him and opened his palm, dark with two bloody gouges in which Rodney fancied he saw bone. Sheppard turned his hand and one of Ronon's wicked little knives fell to the floor, splashing blood like a sacrifice. "Hey hey hey hey hey, what's wrong with you?" He grabbed Sheppard and shook him by the shoulders. He'd already accepted that physical damage to these bodies meant nothing. It was oddly liberating. But he didn't relish dealing with an indestructible and insane Lieutenant Colonel. Man. Whatever.

"Wouldn't know," Sheppard said, "seeing as how I'm not myself right now." He sagged forward inexplicably, his forehead hitting Rodney's shoulder like a stone. "I think," he said, enunciating clearly, "I've been multiplied by zero, McKay."

"You're a stupid _fuck_ ," Rodney said, vision going red -- he swore he felt the nanites surge forward to protect him against high blood pressure and aneurism. He moved one hand to the back of Sheppard's neck and shoved down with all his strength as he shifted to the side. Sheppard didn't even put up token resistance as he hit the floor with Rodney straddling his hips, though he did make a satisfying whooshing noise as all the breath went out of him. Rodney twisted one hand full of stiff, cowlicky hair and yanked Sheppard's head to the side; with the other hand he whapped him hard between the shoulders. "You can't be so shallow that _these_ define you." He reached around to grab the insignia sewn to Sheppard's shirt, and on afterthought snatched up the knife as well, because while ripping would have been very, very satisfying, cutting was just a hell of a lot easier.

"Don't," Sheppard said, practically dislocating his own shoulder to immobilize Rodney's wrist. He smiled, faint and mocking, with the side of his face that wasn't pressed into the floor. "The clothes don't repair themselves."

Rodney paused and parsed, and then ran his free hand roughly over Sheppard's shirt, feeling for damage. He found one sleeve where the black cotton hid stiff bloodstains, and turned around (ignoring Sheppard's muffled _oof_ ) to feel down Sheppard's legs.

"Pervert," Sheppard said, but there was no sting to the word.

"No worse than airport security," Rodney snapped back. "What did you do?" He jabbed Sheppard over the mended holes he'd found on his thigh.

"I shot myself." Rodney could hear the smirk. "The scientific method in action. It's not like this is my _real_ body," he said, almost defensively (and defensive was good, Rodney thought, defensive meant that Sheppard knew he was wrong). Rodney reached around and undid Sheppard's belt, and then the fly of his trousers, and pulled them down.

 _That_ got a reaction; Sheppard bucked beneath him and called him fucking insane. Rodney used all those hard-earned fighting tips he'd got from Ronon and Teyla, applying his weight like a lever as he turned around and rolled Sheppard over and pinned Sheppard's wrists to the jumper floor. Sheppard didn't have enough padding to protect himself: in Rodney's hand, he felt Sheppard's bones grinding together. He supposed it hurt. But not half as badly as being shot. He slid his free hand down Sheppard's body, over his hip, made several exploratory passes over Sheppard's hairy leg, but he hadn't really expected scars.

He hadn't expected Sheppard to make a low, broken noise, either, or to try and rip himself away.

"Well, _that's_ interesting," Rodney said, shoving his hand up, maybe a little too hard, into Sheppard's crotch. Sheppard hissed as Rodney rubbed his hand over his hard-on. The front of his underwear was already damp. "I didn't know you were into guys."

"I'm not," Sheppard said, his legs tensing. His knees drew up, feet flat against the floor as if he were going to try bucking Rodney off again, and then he took three fast breaths -- holding himself still.

Which was a pity, because if Sheppard wasn't getting off on Rodney, then it must be the situation. Threat, restraint, and pain. Well. Who was Rodney kidding? Sheppard had been shooting himself, for fun.

"I am." Rodney stared down at Sheppard, not caring if he saw his unhappiness. "I have to admit, this isn't something I ever really considered, but I think we can arrange something. Can I trust you?"

"Yes?" Sheppard said, and Rodney felt Sheppard's cock jerk against his palm.

"Then keep your hands there," Rodney said, and let go immediately, because he needed to know _now_ if this was going to work. Sheppard's fingers curled into loose fists; Sheppard stared at him with narrowed eyes. Rodney stared back. "You're not going to like this," he added, feeling his mouth slide down at the corner the way it did when he was sad.

"That's the point, McKay," Sheppard said, with a sort of a sigh as Rodney patted his cock goodbye and used both hands to unbutton Sheppard's shirt. He wasn't wearing a t-shirt underneath. Rodney wondered if it was lying somewhere stiff with blood, full of inexplicable holes, the victim of violence Sheppard had unleashed on himself.

Rodney touched Sheppard's nipples, rolled them between his fingers, held them between index and middle fingers and scraped the tops, lightly, with his thumbnail.

"I remember the first time Rodney saw your chest," he said, trying for a light conversational tone. "I remember him being angry with you for ruining perfectly good jerk-off material by being all hot and half-naked and dead."

"I remember being dead," Sheppard said. Rodney bent down and licked each captive nipple in turn, settling on the one over Sheppard's beating heart to suck on. Sheppard tasted like sweat, which was good, and the chest hair was possibly even more fun to play with than the hair on his head, curling around Rodney's fingers as if it, at least, was glad for his presence. Rodney pulled back, admiring the way he'd made the swollen brown skin shine. "You can use your teeth."

"Yes, I can," Rodney said, licking circles around the other nipple. He could; but he wouldn't; and he felt the jerk that went through Sheppard as that realisation hit.

"McKay."

Oh, but he could develop a kink for making Sheppard whine like that in bed. Oh, but he really, really shouldn't. He stuck his fingers in Sheppard's mouth to make him shut up, moving them in and out in rhythm with his tongue as he tonguefucked Sheppard's navel. Sheppard was a licker and not a sucker; he probably thought he knew what Rodney was going to use those fingers for. The thought of using nothing but spit for lube made Rodney cringe and wonder what it _was_ with Sheppard.

He shifted down, and Sheppard lifted his hips so he could tug his boxers down to his where his trousers had ended up, kneewards.

"Look at you," he said, using the hand that had been in Sheppard's mouth to trace random gate symbols up his cock. Sheppard didn't look; his eyes had slammed shut, his head averted. "I'm trying to think what part of you I like best. I don't think you really appreciate what you've got here. If you did, you wouldn't be jabbing yourself full of holes." He wrapped his hand around the base of Sheppard's cock and pumped him, once, not exactly hard but enough to make Sheppard suck air in through his nose. "You've got nice elbows," he said, and ducked his head to lick straight across Sheppard's cock. "They're like that glimpse of stocking in the song -- not really erotic at all, except that they're usually all covered up. Probably your ankles, too." He turned his head to study Sheppard's boots, letting his cock slide along his cheek. "Next time, I'll get you to flash the ankles."

"Jesus," Sheppard said, and twisted his hips in a complicated, frustration-driven arc. "You are _not_ what I'm used to."

"I could be."

Sheppard bit his lip at that, and Rodney could practically hear the skin give way. To distract him, he swallowed down Sheppard's cock as far as he could given the position -- which maybe wasn't that impressive, but he knew how to map a cock with his tongue, how to play it with exquisite technical perfection. He could give a blow job that lasted over an hour -- the trick was in the breathing and a somewhat wicked sense of timing, and avoiding certain jaw movements -- but right now he was aiming for speed. He pulled Sheppard's legs as wide as they would go, hobbled by clothing, and cupped Sheppard's balls, heavy and amusingly hairy. Sheppard was breathing through his mouth, each breath coming out almost like a word but not quite. Speaking in tongues, Rodney thought, sliding Sheppard's cock along his own tongue and then hollowing his cheeks as he sucked, hard.

Sheppard levitated gratifyingly, in a shower of sharp not-words, and came in rapid-fire bursts that would have been choking if Rodney hadn't been prepared. Some people had cocks that liked being soothed down from orgasm gently, with laps and swirls of the tongue; others found it unbearable. Rodney tested: judging by the agonised way Sheppard's face twisted, he was one of the oversensitive latter. Which so totally figured, he thought, as he let Sheppard's cock go as gently as he could.

Sheppard's eyes were still screwed shut, so Rodney figured this was going to be the tricky bit. He slid up, trying his best not to be stealthy enough to startle or clumsy enough to alarm, and wrapped Sheppard up in his arms. He didn't rock, though he could have, he just. . . held on. He wondered if Sheppard would figure out that he was free, now, to move. He wouldn't have minded Sheppard touching him. Though he supposed he understood why he didn't.

Sheppard might not be Sheppard, anymore, but he still had Sheppard's muscle memory, and Rodney could feel tension flowing back into his body like monsoon rain into dry channels. Sheppard took a deep breath, possibly trying to dislodge Rodney, and then reached down with one stiff arm, flexing his wrist even as he reached for Rodney's crotch.

"I'll take a raincheck," Rodney said, batting Sheppard's hand away. He was far more exhausted than turned on, right now.

"Huh," Sheppard said, and then Rodney felt him touch his hair -- very lightly, as if testing to see if it were real. Which it was. It all was, that was the thing.

"After we see the Atlanteans," Rodney said, and felt the word go through Sheppard in a jolt. "After we've paid our obligations to the past. After that's _done_ , we start creating our own future. We, meaning us, meaning _all_ of us, including you, even if I have to drag you along kicking and screaming. Though I'd rather not." He paused, and then added, reluctantly, "It's enough for now, if you can just believe in me."

And God, God, he had gotten it right, feeling Sheppard's hand clench in his hair hard enough to bring tears to his eyes; and he was sorry, he wished it was otherwise.

Sheppard released him almost instantaneously. Rodney felt him withdraw, and he made himself sit up and get up, twisting the kinks out of his back and neck. Sheppard dressed swiftly, and Rodney couldn't look at him. He jerked his head and then headed out of the jumper, back towards the others, and he didn't see but rather felt Sheppard behind him, shadow silent and twisted by strange determination, but at any rate alive -- and that, well: Rodney could bear that burden. For now.


End file.
